Dо Recessіon-Prооf Stоcks Exіst??? 📉

Aссоrdіng to mіІІіonaire іnvestor Brаd Thоmas, thеy dо, аnd hе cаlls thеm SWАN (Slееp WеІІ аt Nіght) stосks... [New Trading View Logotype]( [New Trading View Logotype]( Rule No. 1 : Never lose money. Rule No. 2 : Never forget Rule No. 1. - Warren Buffett -   A note from the Editor: New Trading View is dedicated to providing readers like you with unique opportunities. The message below from one of our business associates is one we believe you should take a serious look at.   А как вы узнаете, кто победил? Я так понимаю, к демонам сейчас не протолкнуться, - задумчиво спросила Лена, а я осознала, что теликов-то тут нет. И бои увидят лишь избранные и явно богатые. - Так магические экраны в каждом городе уже начали ставить. Там можно хоть весь день смотреть, и отборочные туры, и сам финал! - а вот это уже интереснее, а главное нам на руку. Ох, скоро этот мир будет в шоке! - А как отбор проводится? Команд много? - спросила Настя, но по её глазам было видно, что она уже в финале, и в своей фантазии давно всех положила на лопатки и танцует победный танец. - Так на этот случай и нужны браслеты. Каждой команде присваивается номер, и потом наугад ставят две команды, победил - идёшь вперёд, проиграл-выбыл. Только во время отборочных вылетают, а дальше уже за места бьются, да и то только за первые десять в каждой категории. На каждом бою присутствует судья. На браслет приходит время и место встречи. Очки зачитывают за время боя, силу и количество ударов, и много чего ещё. Я всех тонкостей не знаю, но на рейтинг это влияет, - закончил делиться информацией мальчик. Получил свои монетки от Светы и убежал. Принцип понятен. Если более ста команд, то проще отсеять слабых сразу, и посмотреть на красивый финал с сильными бойцами. Но то, что на отсев идёт неделя, меня взволновало. Это выходит, что битв в день будет больше одной. Да и подача заявок окончится завтра, а это значит, что найти мы никого не успеем, и участвовать придётся МНЕ! Видно, не я одна об этом подумала, так как сёстры уже выжидающе смотрели на меня. - Я не умею драться, вы же знаете! - взвыла я, надеясь, что они передумают. - Да тебе и не придётся, я сама всех уложу! - радостно заявила Настя. Вот это самомнение! - Мари, тебе нечего бояться, мы тебя защитим. Да и шанс просто отличный, о нас сразу узнают все! А это сто процентов успеха! - услышать такое от Лены я не ожидала. И она же туда же! - Хорошо, я буду участвовать! - простонала я, жалобно смотря на довольных подруг. Но разве их поймёшь? – Давайте только определимся с категорией. Третья или вторая? Нас вряд ли за новичков примут, так что, скорее всего, вторая. Там же вояки, будет, с кем девчонкам развлечься. Только вот, подняв глаза, поняла, как же я ошибаюсь. Куда им третья или вторая, этих бестий можно усадить лишь на олимп! А это … - Мари, что за глупый вопрос! Мы будем участвовать только в первой категории! - слова Светы были, как приговор. Ну, кто бы сомневался! Берегитесь, «Великие магические игры», такого шоу никто не ожидает увидеть! Команда «Падших ангелов» уже готова заявить о себе и доказать всем выскочкам, что и женщины могут быть как наравне, так и выше мужчин в силе. Глава 4 К стойке регистрации команд я шла, как на эшафот. Так как это был последний день, то мы никого уже не встретили. Видно, все желающие ещё в первый день подали заявки. А в последний шли опоздавшие и те, кто всё же решился участвовать, но таких было очень мало. Если бы девчата раньше узнали об играх, думаю, мы были бы в числе первых, кто зарегистрировался. - Мы хотим участвовать! - радостно сообщила Настя, кидая мешочек монеток с четырьмя золотыми. Да, даже здесь был взнос за то, чтобы тебя поколотили на глазах у всех. И цена - один золотой с человека. - Девушка, вы рано, ставки начнём принимать через неделю, - устало сказал мужчина за столиком, но нам улыбался, как детям. Мужичок лет сорока с мощным телом и цепким взглядом сразу мне понравился. Видно, он и есть судья в этом городе. - Вы не поняли, мы хотим участвовать! - возмутилась Света. Глаза у мужика стали круглыми от удивления, а губы, что он поджимал, теперь раскрылись в улыбку. И вот он хохочет, весело поглядывая на нас. Зарегистрироваться будет немного сложнее, чем мы думали. - Девоньки, вы хоть знаете, что это за игры? Да вас покалечат в же первые секунды, а я не собираюсь отвечать перед вашими семьями и мужьями. Хотите кого-то позлить или доказать что-то? Найдите другой способ. Магические соревнования — это не детские игры. Здесь и умереть можно, - серьёзно вещал судья, но я-то понимала, что это без толку. Хотя на каждое его слово активно качала головой в надежде, что сёстры проникнутся и передумают. Но облом! Do Recession-Proof Stocks Exist??? Accоrdіng to mіІІіonaire іnvestor Brаd Thоmas, thеy dо, аnd hе cаlls thеm SWАN (Slееp WеІІ аt Nіght) stоcks. [𝑪𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒖𝒊𝒍𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒇 𝑺𝑾𝑨𝑵 𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒇𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒐.]( Unbelievable! I just had to tell other clients about my method as well. Over the next few weeks, dozens of my clients confessed to me that they had made very significant positive changes in their lives thanks to Miracle Morning. Some of them told their friends and colleagues about the method. Word of it spread across the Internet like wildfire. People were leaving reviews on Facebook and Twitter, and even proudly posting videos on YouTube of themselves getting up early in the morning and doing the Miracle Morning exercise. Just some kind of general lunacy, right? Who the hell is this Joe? I began to realize that there really was something to my method. One day, when I went to YouTube to watch one of my videos, I typed my name into the search bar. (Hey hey, don't judge me harshly. You probably googled yourself in the search engine, too!) Suddenly the splash screen of the video appeared, which for some reason was called "Joe's Miracle Morning. It showed a guy I had never seen before in my life. Admittedly, my first reaction wasn't too positive: "Who the hell is this Joe, and who the hell does he think he is, brazenly copying my "Miracle Morning"? I even got a little angry, which of course doesn't do me any credit. I just didn't know what to think. Had I known I was in for a pleasant surprise, that I would even be flattered. I pressed Play and this is what I saw. The guy on the screen said: "Hi, this is your friend Joe Diosana. Let's see what time it is..." (Here Joe showed his alarm clock, the hands showed 5:41.) "So it's twenty-six, Sunday, and you must be wondering, 'Joe, old boy, what are you doing this early on a Sunday morning? You know, and you go to miraclemorning.com. Here you are at miraclemorning.com. Watch my video and download it. Honestly, I feel like it's Christmas morning: I'm literally overflowing with energy. It's like you have Christmas every day. Try it yourself, and I hope your life changes dramatically for the better, too." After watching Joe's video, I sat staring at the computer screen with my mouth wide open and almost in tears of delight. It was clear to me that even though I had no intention of making Miracle Morning into anything more than a daily morning self-development technique, I now had to tell as many people as possible about it so that it would affect their lives as much as it had affected mine. At the time, however, I still had no idea how popular it would become. Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version) Movement? Or maybe it's an awakening? It's been almost five years since I told Cathy about Miracle Morning and saw Joe's YouTube video. In that time I have received thousands of messages from people all over the world thanking me and telling me with great enthusiasm how my method has changed their lives. It has truly become a worldwide movement - a global awakening - with all kinds of people determined to wake up every day and give themselves the invaluable gift of another step on the path to personal growth. I now see the bigger picture of how the Miracle Morning Method can impact the world, allowing each of us to become the creator of the life we want to live, to begin to positively impact the lives of others and make a difference in the world around us. No matter what you call it-a movement, an awakening, or, as many now say, the mission of Miracle Morning-the essence doesn't change. It is about giving people a tool that will allow them to transform their lives, the lives of their family and friends, their local communities, and the world around them by improving and changing themselves every day. Almost every day hundreds of new people join us and share their experiences, attracting another Miracle Morning fan. And it never ceases to amaze me how many lives my methodology has changed and continues to change. Some of these people follow Joe's example and videotape themselves getting up early in the morning and doing the Miracle Morning exercises (by the way, many of them also proudly show the alarm clock face first to confirm that they are indeed up early). I am extremely grateful for the opportunity to share my method with so many people; it is a great honor. Today, "Miracle Morning" has become one of the main topics of my talks and seminars, through which I try to help corporations and nonprofits, salespeople, teachers, schoolchildren and students become more productive, more motivated and more effective. As much as I talk about Miracle Morning, this new approach allows individuals and organizations to significantly improve their performance by changing their attitude and mindset in the workplace. As you may have guessed, the Miracle Morning seminar should be held in the morning, sometimes even before the main conference or other event. Last but not least Think of this book as an invitation to move to the next level, so that you can translate your success in life to it as well (for that's always the only order in which it happens). If you start right now and do it regularly and consistently, progressing daily to Level 10 and becoming more and more a person capable of creating the Level 10 life (that you really want and deserve), success will simply become inevitable. Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version) Chapter 3 The 95 percent reality check One of the saddest things in life is to get to the end of it and look back with regret, knowing for sure that you should have done more and become much more than you succeeded. - Robin Sharma, Canadian author and expert in the field of motivation for success Human history is the story of men and women who clearly underestimated themselves. - Abraham Maslow. Every day, both you and I wake up in the morning and face the same universal challenge of overcoming drabness and mediocrity and starting to live our lives to our fullest potential. This is the most important and difficult challenge in human history--to set aside excuses and excuses and do what is right, not what is easy; to do our best to create the kind of life (Level 10) that we really want to live, a life free of limitations--the kind that, unfortunately, very few people live. In fact, most of us don't even come close to something like that. As has already been said, about 95 percent of the members of our society settle for far less in life than they really want. And they go through life suffering from regrets without ever realizing that they could have been what they wanted, done what they wanted, and had everything they dreamed of. According to the U.S. Social Security Administration, if you take a hundred people at the beginning of their working career and follow them over the next forty years until they reach retirement age, you see a rather disappointing result. Only one in a hundred will become really rich; four will be financially secure; five will continue working, not because they want to, but because they lack money; thirty-six will have died by then, and fifty-four will have gone bankrupt and become totally dependent on friends, relatives and the state. In other words, specifically on the material side of things, only 5 percent of us succeed and live free and independent lives, while 95 percent of us struggle with financial problems all our lives. Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version) p{ font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-weight: bold; font-size: 8px; letter-spacing: 4px; line-height: 11px; text-transform: capitalize; text-decoration: underline; text-align: justify; } (In order of appearance.) Margaret Brick MAY (aka Sis.) Big Mama Dixie, the little girl. Big Daddy Priest Tooker GUPER (aka Brother) Dr. Bau. Lacey, Negro servant. Zookie, a little girl. Two little boys. Act One. As the curtain rises, someone can be heard showering in the bathroom through the half-open door. A beautiful young woman with an anxious look enters the bedroom and walks to the bathroom door. MARGARET (trying to shout out the noise of the water): One of those half-assed freaks threw a butter biscuit at me: now I have to change! MARGARET speaks both quickly and by stretching out syllables. When pronouncing long passages, she resembles a priest chanting a prayer: the breath is taken after the end of the line, so the phrase ends on the last breath. Sometimes Margaret intersperses her speech with a soft chant without words, such as "Pa-pa-pa-pa!" The noise of the water stops and Brick responds, though he is still out of sight. A politely exaggerated interest can be heard in his tone, masking his complete indifference to his wife. BRICK: What did you say, Maggie? The water is noisy, I can't hear anything. MARGARET: I just said that one of those freaks ruined my lace dress, now I have to change... BRICK: Why do you call them freaks? MARGARET: Because they don't have necks. BRICK: No neck at all? MARGARET: At least I didn't notice it. Fat heads stuck on fat carcasses without the slightest gap. BRICK: That's not good. MARGARET: It's worse than that, you can't even wring their necks, because they don't have necks! Isn't that right, darling? (She takes off her dress and is left in an ivory silk undershirt. You can hear the children screaming from downstairs.) Do you hear how they scream? Where are their vocal cords, because they don't have necks. You know, they got me so worked up at the table today, I thought I was going to scream so hard, the neighboring states would hear. So I said to your lovely sister-in-law, "May, honey, why don't we put your precious little ones at a separate table with a tarpaulin, huh? They made such a mess, and the lace tablecloth is so pretty!" She made big eyes and said, "What are you, what are you, what are you, what are you! On Big Daddy's birthday? He'll never forgive me for that!" And he didn't sit with those freaks for two minutes before he slammed his fork on the table and yelled: "Goddamn it, Hooper, these pigs only eat out of a trough in the kitchen!" I swear, I almost died laughing! Think about it, Brick, they've got five and a sixth on the way. I mean, it's like they brought their brood here for a fair, for show. And all the time they're getting them to do something, "Do this, do that. Read a poem, stand on your head!" And the constant hints that you and I don't have kids, have you noticed, honey, that you and I don't have kids, huh? No, I haven't. And since we are childless, then completely useless! It's funny, of course, but it's also disgusting how much they don't hide their intentions. BRICK (indifferently): What are their intentions, Maggie? MARGARET: You know very well yourself! BRICK (appearing in the doorway): I don't know anything. He's standing on his way out of the bathroom, wiping his head with a towel with one hand and leaning on the towel rail with the other, because his leg is in a cast. He is still as fit and strong as a young man. There are no obvious signs of alcoholism. An additional charm is given by a certain quiet detachment, typical of people who have given up on everything and abandoned all struggles. But at moments of irritation, it is as if lightning flashes across a clear sky, and then it becomes clear that deep down inside he is not at all calm. Maybe in brighter light you could see that he had already begun to blur, but in the warm sunset rays coming in from the balcony, he looks fine. MARGARET: I can tell you all about those intentions, darling. They want to keep you out of your father's inheritance... (She falls silent for a moment before her next remark. Her voice drops, as if she were confessing something unpleasant.) And we know for a fact that Big Daddy is dying of cancer. (There are voices coming from the lawn, calling to the children. Margaret raises her hands and puffs her armpits with a light sweep. Then sets the concave mirror, adjusts her lashes, and stands up impetuously.) Too much light in the room. BRICK (softly but quickly): Are we sure we know? MARGARET: Sure we know what? BRICK: That the Big Daddy is dying of cancer? MARGARET: The test results came back today. BRICK: So... MARGARET (lowering the bamboo blinds that form long, gold-framed shadows on the floor): That's right. Got the conclusion today... Nothing new for me, my darling... (You can feel the music in her voice, sometimes it sounds low, kind of boyish, and we can imagine her playing boyish games as a child.) I figured it out earlier in the year when we visited in March, and I'm willing to vouch that your Brother and his wife were no sillier than I was. That explains why they decided to come here for the whole summer, in the heat of the moment. And why there's been so much talk lately about Rainbow Hill. Do you know what Rainbow Hill is? Oh, you don't know? It's a place that treats alcoholics and drug addicts from Hollywood. BRICK: I've never been to Hollywood. MARGARET: And thank God I'm not an addict. BRICK: Yet. Other than that, he's a good fit for Rainbow Hill. They'd love to get you there. But it'll have to be over my dead body. But they'd like my dead body, too, just as long as they get you there. Then your brother will be the loan officer and give us a lump sum to help us out of poverty, or else he'll take us into his custody, and we'll need his signature on every cheque. Son of a bitch! Oh, what a son of a bitch! How do you like that, honey? And you just go out of your way to make sure it's just the way they say it is. You quit your job, you're a professional drunk. And you broke your leg yesterday at the stadium. What were you doing there? Taking the hurdles!? It's 2:00 in the morning. That's amazing! But it made the paper, "Last night there was a demonstration at Glorious Hill College Stadium by a former athlete who couldn't tackle the first hurdle because he wasn't in the best shape." Your Brother Hooper assures me that he used all his influence to keep this news from reaching the national press via A.P. or U.P.I., damn it! You're the one reading all this nonsense. But you know, Brick, you have one huge advantage! Part I The Marquise's Appearance Chapter 1 On stepping off the omnibus, Miss Fox-Seaton lifted her well-cut skirt with her usual neatness and grace, for she had long since developed the manner of getting on and off the omnibus without the London grime staining the hem. A woman, whose attire is destined to serve two or three years, quickly learns the art of keeping her skirts clean, and of freshening them as necessary. This morning the streets were damp, but Emily Fox-Seaton was extremely careful, and was now returning to her Mortimer Street home as untarnished as when she left the house. She had given much thought to her outfits-especially to this dress, which had served her faithfully for twelve months. The skirts, of course, had undergone some unpleasant changes, and every time she walked down Regent Street and Bond Street she stopped in front of the shop windows above which it said "Ladies' and Amazons' Dressmaking," and gazed at the smartly dressed mannequins with unnaturally thin waists. In the open, clear gaze of her big brown eyes one could see a certain uneasiness. She was trying to figure out where the seams and ruffles should be placed, and whether ruffles were even worn this season, and whether it was possible to arrange the fashionable seams and pleats in such a way as to solve the difficult problem of redoing last year's skirt without much expense, or whether the skirt would resist the innovations. "It's a good thing the skirt is plain brown," she muttered to herself, "then you can buy about a yard of similar fabric, insert a wedge in the back where the fringes are, and you won't see anything. Coming to this wonderful conclusion, she brightened up. She was such a simple and sensible creature that very little was needed to make life play up again in all its colors, and to bring a sweet, childlike smile to her face. A show of affection, a little pleasure, some comfort, and her face lit up with joy. So, as she climbed out of the omnibus and picked up the proverbial brown skirt to traverse the dens of Mortimer Street, she was already in high spirits. Not only did her smile retain its childishness - her face, too, seemed too youthful for a person of her age and stature. She was thirty-four years old, and her figure was quite mature - straight, broad shoulders, a slender waist, firm hips. She was large but stately, and, having solved through her own vigor and orderliness the difficult problem of regularly changing her dresses, of which she had only one a year, she wore these dresses so gracefully and rearranged the previous year's outfits so skillfully that she always looked rather fashionable. Her face was round, her cheeks fresh, her eyes beautiful, large and clear, her hair thick with light brown and a little straight nose. She attracted the eye, and with her genuine interest in people, her ability to rejoice in little things, and the clear look of her large eyes she looked more like a pretty overgrown girl than a grown-up woman whose life consisted of incessant struggle with very difficult circumstances. She was of noble birth and well educated, whatever the education of women of her class might have been. She had few relatives, and none of them was willing to take upon themselves the care of a girl without means. They were all worthy men, but their main concern was to send their sons to the army or navy and to marry off their daughters. When Emily's mother passed away, and with it the modest annual rent, none of them wanted to take in the bony, lanky teenager, as she was frankly told. At eighteen she had begun work as a teacher's aide in a small school, a year later as a governess, then as a reader and companion to a certain unfriendly old lady in Northumberland. The old lady lived in the country, and her relatives circled over her like vultures in anticipation of her demise. Life in the house was so bleak and austere that a girl less sane than Emily would have easily fallen into a morbid melancholy. Emily Fox-Seaton bore all hardships with an invariably luminous disposition that eventually awakened a glimmer of humanity in her landlady's soul. When the old lady died and Emily had to go out into the world, she inherited a few hundred pounds and a letter containing practical, though sharply worded advice. "Go back to London," Mrs. Maytem wrote with her gouty hand. - You are not clever enough to make a remarkable living, but you have a good nature, and you could become useful to all kinds of helpless creatures, they would pay you to look after them and their affairs, which they cannot manage themselves because of laziness or stupidity. You might as well get a job at one of those fancy papers and answer ridiculous letters about housekeeping, or wallpaper, or freckles. You know what I mean. You could write letters, or keep bills, or store for some lazy girl. You are practical, honest, and you have good manners. I have often thought that you possess that set of unremarkable qualities that can serve many unremarkable people. There is an old maid of mine in Mortimer Street, who will probably be able to give you inexpensive decent lodgings and behave decently to you for my sake. She has reason to treat me lovingly. Tell her that it was I who sent you, and that she should charge you ten shillings a week." Emily wept, and from thenceforth put old Mrs. Maytem on a pedestal in her soul as a righteous patroness, though after she had put her inheritance in the bank it was found that it brought in only twenty pounds a year. - How kind she was! - said Emily, in a burst of gratitude. - I could never have imagined such extraordinary generosity. I had no right to such kindness, none at all! This was her way of expressing her most sincere feelings - emphasizing in her voice the meaningful words full of joy and gratitude. She returned to London and introduced herself to the former maid. Mrs. Cupp did have reason to remember her mistress with gratitude. Back in the day, when her youth and indiscretion had brought her into trouble, Mrs. Maytem had saved her from apparent disgrace and taken care of her. The old lady, who in those days was still a vigorous and sharp-tongued middle-aged woman, had forced a soldier's lover to marry his desperate girlfriend, and when he soon afterwards drank himself to death, she bought a house for the widowed maid, where she rented rooms and thereby supported herself and her daughter quite decently. On the second floor of this respectable but smoky house was a small room, which she had furnished especially for a friend of her late mistress. By day the bedroom was the living room, and the little couch Emily had bought herself was transformed into a couch by a red and blue Como plaid thrown over it. The only window looked out on the dark backyard, surrounded by a soot-covered wall, a meeting-place for skinny cats, who stalked in and out of it, or sat motionless, staring at the fate that was in store for them. The Como rugs came in handy in the apartment décor. Emily had sewn a braid to one of them, and it now hung on the door, acting as a drape. The other rug covered the corner of the room that served as Miss Fox-Seaton's dressing room. As she set to work, this joyful creature bought herself a square Kensington rug, the richest red by Kensington rug standards, and covered the chairs with her own sewn bright red chintz covers and tucked them around the seats. The curtains were cheap white muslin (eight pounds and eleven pence a pair at Robson's), over which she hung bright red draperies. She had bought a sofa cushion and some inexpensive porcelain figurines at a sale at Liberty, which now adorned the narrow mantelpiece. A lacquered tea tray and a tea service consisting of cup, creamer, plate, and teapot seemed to her to be signs of true wealth. After a day spent in the wet and cold streets, which she had walked up and down, running errands for her patronesses - shopping, looking for new dressmakers or housekeepers - she looked forward to returning to the bedroom-living room. By this time Mrs. Cupp was building a fire in the tiny fireplace, and this flame and the cheerful light of a lamp under a homemade shade of red Japanese parchment, and the singing of a small black kettle on the grate of the fire, seemed a real luxury to the tired and chilled girl.   [Logotype by NTV]( You are receiving our newsletter because you opted-in for it on one of our sister websites. Make sure you stay up to date with finance news by [whitelisting us](. Copyright © 2022 New Trading View.com All Rights Reserved[.]( 234 5th Ave, New York, NY 10001, United States [Privacy Policy]( l [Terms & Conditions]( [Unsubscribe](